Doctor, Doctor
by Agent Evey
Summary: In which Dr. Lake gets a visit from a surprise guest, and briefly becomes the center of hospital gossip. (No. 3 of "The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles" series)


The whirs, beeps, and chirrups of medical machinery filled the air as Dr. Barbara Lake stood at the computer, rapidly typing away at her patient's electronic charts. The diagnosis was rather typical, as far as emergency visits went—an acute asthma attack brought on by unprotected exposure to fiberglass insulation dust—after an issued slew of oxygen, a nebulizer treatment, and corticosteroids—this particular patient was finally seeing the brighter side of his visit. She would sent him home with a full round of steroids to take over the next few weeks, along with an inhaler, and the strong suggestion that he wear a mask next time, no matter how silly he though it made him look.

So far, the night had been a quiet one, with most cases following a similar pattern, allowing her to settle into an easy rhythm that invited thoughts of her outside life. There were things going on within her heart that both scared and thrilled her, and she found them difficult to internalize as she went about her shift. Overall, she'd managed to keep a steady head, but every now-and-then she caught the side of her lips tugging up at wayward memories of warm cedar and mulberries, of brown cloth and emerald eyes, and of kisses in an old car in the rain.

"You've been smilin' a lot," Jeanine said, eyeing her co-worker with a lopsided smile as she clutched at her own patient's clipboard. "Got anything you want to share?"

"No," Barbara replied as she rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses, chasing the thoughts away. "Well, maybe. I don't know..." she trailed off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she busied herself with the computer.

Jeanine laughed, "Uuhhuuhh," Her hazel eyes danced with amusement. "You tell me when you're good and ready, but I know you've got someone."

Barbara smirked and looked up at her colleague. The fellow doctor had been trying for days to get an answer out of her. "And what makes you think that? Just because I'm happy, doesn't mean its about some guy."

"Honey, I've got three daughters. It's an instinct. Plus, we've known each other how long? Ten years, and I ain't never seen you smile that much. You were smilin' at the microwave. The _microwave_ , Barb. Unless that burrito was dancing in there, I'd say you had a secret."

"Don't you have a UTI to diagnose, or a lung to re-inflate, or something?"

"It's almost 5AM, baby. I'm about to go home."

"Wait, really?" her eyes floated to the clock. 4:45. "Guess I lost track."

"Mmhhmmm, I guess you did." Jeanine eyed her friend knowingly.

Barbara looked to see her friend's eyebrows rise to the height of the ceiling. "Alright," she shook her head, holding her hands up in surrender. "Fine, you caught me. Geez, you're nosy."

"Hey, it's my job to look after you. You'd never get any sleep if I didn't shove your butt out that door half the time. Now, who is it?"

"Well, "she began, "you're not gonna believe me, but-"

"Dr. Lake?" A doe-eyed, front-desk intern came up, his knees practically trembling as he interrupted her. "Uh," he ran a hand through his blond, twenty-something hair. "There's someone here for you."

"Is it Jim?"

"No, it's-uh, a Mr. Striker?"

Barbara blinked. "Oh…well, send him back here, will you?"

"Well, I guess I'm about to find out." Jeanine piped in as the boy walked off. "You don't let anybody back here _but_ Jim.

"Visitors come through here all the time," she said, looking around at the rows of doors.

"Yeah, well, not for you."

"Right down there Mr. Striker," they both looked up to see the blonde point a figure down the hall.

"Strickler, please," Barbara heard his low, corrective voice-the same voice that had sent shivers down her spine a few nights prior.

"Is that…?" Jeanine squinted. "Is that…?"

" _Jeanie,_ " Barbara warned.

"The _history_ teacher?" Jeanine was caught between incredulity and laughter. "From Arcadia Oaks High? Oh my god, Barb. He almost failed my youngest!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Barbara whispered tersely. "I'm not taking his class. Besides, he's the principal now."

"Principal?" Jeanine blinked and shook her head. "Thank the lord my kids are out of there. You know, we used to call him Mr. 'Strict-ler' and Mr. 'Stick-up-his-butt' in the PTA meetings. Of course, that was only those of us who _weren't_ trying to get his number so we could have him over for crumpets and tea, if you know what I mean."

Folding her arms, the doctor chuckled. As chaotic as her schedule was, she rarely had the time to attend the parent-centered gatherings at her son's school, but Jim's recent string of delinquencies had forced her to make a more regular appearance—and because of it, she now knew very well how Mr. Strickler was perceived. She also knew that, classically, he never gave his admirers the time of day.

"Well," she smiled wryly at her friend, her expression impish. "He _does_ make pretty good tea."

"Yeah, I bet," Jeanine remarked offhandedly, and then did a double-take. "Wait, what?"

"Doctor Fox," Strickler said as he approached them, holding a paper box. "I had no idea that you worked at this hospital. It's a pleasure to see you. How is Nicole? Did she get into that school in Vancouver?"

"Yes, yes she did," Jeanine crossed her arms, "but she's not majoring in history."

"Oh," he gave a short, self-conscious laugh. "Well, that's…good to hear?"

Barbara put a palm to her face.

"I mean," he corrected. "I'm glad that she is doing well."

"Mhmm," Dr. Fox continued to give him the side-eye. "So, what are your intentions with Barbara?"

"Oookay," Barbara pushed Jeanine's shoulders from behind, guiding her toward the hallway, "I think we've had enough of the meet-and-greet, don't you?"

"Hey, I'm just tryin' to scope him out." Jeanine said lowly, once they were out of range.

"Yes, let's not give him a colonoscopy today, okay?"

Jeanine took a deep breath. "Alright, maybe it was a little strong but…listen, I don't want to see you get hurt again, Barb. You don't deserve it."

Barbara paused. Jeanine had been with her through thick and thin. When they'd met, they were both single moms who were struggling with the burden of raising a child alone. Jeanine had since remarried, but she had never forgotten what it was like and remained one of Barbara's closest friends.

"I know, I know." She grabbed Jeanine's hand and squeezed it. "Thank you. You're always watching over me."

"You really like him?" Jeanine raised a brow.

She nodded, "I know he seems dry but…god, I haven't felt like this in so long." Her blue eyes shimmered, and then darkened with the tide of her thoughts. "Jim's changed," she continued, "he's getting older and…and acting out. I'm starting to lose him." She bit her lip. "Walt's been a great help."

"And he treats you well?" Jeanine's voice summoned ghosts from the past.

"Jeanie, you know I wouldn't be spending time him if he didn't," she looked at her friend sincerely. "It's not going to end up that way again. I promise."

In the distance, Walter's shoulders sagged. Although out-of-range for human ears, the changeling could hear them perfectly. She had yet to tell him about the history between her and Jim's father, but he could guess well enough that the pain she remembered wasn't entirely rooted in the emotional.

"Alright, alright," Jeanine raised her hands in surrender. "I'll stop pestering. Just be careful, okay? And you let me know if anything goes wrong. I'll whoop his history-loving hiney into the next century."

"If I don't do it first," Barbara laughed. "Those Krav Maga lessons have really paid off."

"Good," Jeanine said.

They said their goodbyes and Barbara made her way back to Walter. He looked concerned, she thought, weathered, his face a little less cheerful than before.

"Is everything alright?" his voice smoothed over the chaos of chirping machines and busy staff. "I hope that I didn't cause any trouble..."

"No, no, it's fine," she waved a hand. "Sorry, Jeanie's just protective, that's all."

"There's no need to apologize. I'm glad that you have such a caring friend. And speaking of care," Walter offered her the box, "I thought you might enjoy breakfast."

She smiled up at him, and then caught sight of her administrator, Wanda, coming around the corner. Her eyes widened.

"They're scones," he explained, "blueberry scones. I thought that we could eat them in the park outside."

 _Who's the piece on the side?_ Wanda mouthed as she pointed at the teacher from behind.

Dear god, Jeanie had told her. Barbara palmed her face again. She wasn't used to being the center of the clinic's gossip. In fact, she went to great lengths to avoid it.

"Oh," he frowned, misjudging her reaction as he fumbled to take the box back from her. "Do you not like scones? I'm sorry, I didn't know. I can take them back. "

"No, no," she placed her hand against his, stilling his reaction. "I love them. It's just…I don't get off for another hour. By then, you'll probably have to be at work."

"May I speak with you, Dr. Lake?" Wanda interrupted them as she came sauntering up from behind.

"Yes, one moment," The doctor nodded, then handed the box back to Walter. "Listen, why don't you wait in my office for a few minutes. Go straight down the hall until you reach the second right, take that; my office is the seventh door on the left side, you'll see my name is etched onto the frosted panel. Here, take the key," she reached into her lab coat, and placed it in his hands.

Barbara watched until he was out of earshot. "I'm, sorry, Wanda," she began, adjusting the rims of her glasses. "I didn't know that he-"

"You should go, Barb." The administrator placed a hand on the doctor's shoulder, stilling her words. "We take the heat over the next hour. You always are pulling shifts for other people so that they can go and enjoy _their_ lives. It's time for you to take one for yourself."

The Doctor's eyes were large and hopeful when they looked at her. "Are—are you sure? I mean, I still have to finish up this patient…"

"Finish up, and go," Wanda smiled, squeezing Barbara's shoulder before she let go. "Dr. Fox told me that you'd been having trouble with Jim. She hasn't seen you this cheerful in a while. And honestly, neither have I. I know you love your work, and you're good at it. In fact, you're one of our best, but part of my job is to make sure that the members of my staff are taking care of themselves on the outside. You, of all people, deserve to have a little fun."

Barbara stared at the administrator for a long, hard moment, considering her options. She wasn't one to let other people, especially those of the romantic persuasion, get in the way of her work. Above all, her commitment to both her profession, and her child's future, took precedent-but, for once, she found herself wanting to disregard those responsibilities. There was something in Walter's wild charm that acted like a salve against the wounds that her son had inflicted on their family. Although she had good friends, they had lives and families of their own. Whatever Jim was going through, it tore her apart inside, and though reluctant to admit it to herself, she looked forward the distraction that the teacher provided.

"Ok," she said, over the rims of her glasses, "I'll bite. But this isn't going to become a habit, I can assure you."

Wanda chuckled, "Dr. Lake, I'd be far more surprised if it did. Now, hurry on, before Dr. Gilberg breaks into your office and starts giving him a hard time. He probably sniffed out that box of scones from all the way in the O.R."

A while later, Barbara found him in her office, box-laden hands tucked neatly behind his back, studying one the replica paintings she'd suspended along her wall. Adjacent to her desk, the largest of the of the pieces hung: Antonio da Correggio's _Jupiter and Io_ , a piece she'd found poetic in her past.

"I hope that I didn't cause too much of a stir out there." He said, turning away from the painting to face her.

"Oh, it's fine," she waved a hand as she closed the door behind her. "I'll be out of the line of gossip as soon as the next intern gets caught in the broom closet with one of the techs. I can't promise your safety at the next PTA meeting, though. Jeanie is still good friends with some of the moms."

"Oh dear," he chuckled demurely, "I'll make sure to have sword and shield at the ready."

They shared a laugh, and his eyes twinkled brightly as his expression switched to that of one of fondness for his lover. A hand rose, and he gestured to the room. "You have some remarkable replicas on your wall. I had no idea that you had such an interest in art."

"I took a few classes as an undergrad," she said as the side of her lip tugged upward. "Got pretty into it, for a while."

"Mmm," he hummed, and turned back to study the wall.

"This appears to be the centerpiece of your displays. Why the Correggio?" he asked.

"Well, aside from admiring his mastery of skintone, sfumato, and linear perspective." She began as she leaned against the front of her desk. "I think it's his depiction of love that gets me the most-how it can take different forms. It's beautiful. He did a series of four paintings on Jupiter. All of them are magnificent. I chose this particular one because I found it to be a little more appropriate than, say, _Leda and the Swan_ ," she snorted, "but it also stood out because it's the only one where Jupiter doesn't take a distinct shape."

His hand floated to his chin as he studied the scene, rubbing at the freshly shaven skin.

"And how do you interpret its significance?" He swallowed, feeling himself getting nervous.

"You know, for a long time, I couldn't articulate my feelings on that," she said, folding her arms, "but I heard I quote recently; I can't remember who said it, but it went something like: 'Love…like water, is the most gentle and most powerful force in the Universe. It is free and formless until it pours into its recipient, until we let it in. Our eyes are blind but our soul is not. It recognizes love in whatever shape it comes to us.'* It fits this painting perfectly. He's not hiding behind some sort of pleasing veil or disguise. He's letting her take him at his love."

Nothing could have prepared him for the swell he felt in his chest—some mixture of self-pity and love rising up within him, making his eyes sting at their edges and his lips eager for the urge to tremble. Suddenly he felt flushed, his heart racing, like schoolboy gazing at his valentine.

"Or something like that," she trailed off, as he looked at her in shock.

Blue eyes wandered up to his self-consciously. She couldn't tell whether he'd found the statement ridiculous or poetic, and her own nerves began to fester in his silence.

"That was…really cheesy, I know."

He let out a puff of air he barely knew he'd been holding, and set the box of breakfast down as he gently reached to grasp her hand. "Barbara, that was the most delightful interpretation I have ever had the honor of hearing on that piece. I'd very much like to show you around the museum, one day. If-" he looked at her, green eyes betraying a pulse of fear, "if you'll have me, that is."

The doctor's eyes creased with amusement. "If I'll have you?" She got up, stepping toward him, lip tugging sideways into a smirk as she wrapped her arms loosely around his neck. "What kind of talk is that?"

"Well," he huffed nervously, knowing that she could feel the soft tension in his shoulders, "I've been in a bit of a tizzy about that night we spent above the skyline." His voice went low, hinting at the things that they had done. "I worry that you think I only brought you out there to…well, you know," he cocked his head in indication. "Of course, I did want that, but it's not the only reason that I enjoy your company and I…hope you didn't find it too deviant."

Blue eyes danced in continued humor as she considered how absolutely flustered he looked. It was a sharp contrast to how smooth and cavalier his actions normally were.

"Walt, I enjoyed our time." She said, tracing her thumb down his neck. "It's sweet that you care, but you don't have any reason to worry. I know you wouldn't have put me in a position that made me uncomfortable."

His green eyes closed as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Propping his chin over the top of her head, he heaved a long sigh of relief. "I value your presence, no matter the subject, no matter what we're doing…"

The doctor pulled back to look at him, marveling at the way his eyes darkened with his tone. She didn't know why he seemed to feel so guilty about their more sensual endeavors, but could only assume that it had something to do with his past. Familiar with the effects of previous relationships on future behavior, she both acknowledged and diagnosed it as just that.

"I know," she said, tugging him down as she brought their lips together in a kiss. Walter had already played a role in mending quite a few of her own fears, and she would do her best to treat his. After a few moments, she pulled back, and gripped the lapels of his jacket to urge him toward her desk.

"I do know," she said again, beckoning, knowing how appreciated her own advances would be.

A few steps back saw her sitting on the front of her desk again, before she pulled him down into another kiss.

He propped an arm on each side of her, responding eagerly, bracing himself against the wood as her own arms curled around his neck and body. Seconds passed, then minutes, and then the better part of a quarter-hour, before they finally tore apart for air.

"We should eat those scones, before…" The doctor broke off, her eyes closing as she tried to calm her body down. She could hear people walking around outside, and caught the click of the door as her neighbor entered the office beside hers.

"Scones?" Walter paused, allowing himself a few shallow breaths before clearing his throat. "Oh, yes," he blinked, dazed, "breakfast."

Her lithe hands ran through the sides of his ruffled hair. "Breakfast," she teased, nudging him with her knee, admiring the effect she'd had.

The changeling propped himself up from where he'd bent over her, smiling down at the way her fiery locks had splayed themselves against her desk, tangling with her pens and her paperwork. In their fervor, her stethoscope had fallen to the side. He picked it up, and moved to hand it to her, but she stopped his arms mid-track. Sitting up, she pressed the bell of the scope into his palm, then nodded in indication as she put the earpiece to her ears.

For the briefest of moments, he hesitated, brows creasing in wonder as he questioned the steady beating of his stone-laden heart. She would no doubt hear the heavy weight of it, would pick up the false patterns of treachery that hid behind its erratic rhythm, and detect the jutting crystals that lay in wait within each pulse, eager for the chance to stab her. She would hear all of this, and run-as she should, as was right—and would leave him to fester in his cold and glowing world.

This he feared, as his hand moved in slow motion to place the diaphragm just beside the center of his chest. His green eyes shielded themselves behind heavy lids. Every throb, every tick, every pump, no matter how maleficent in nature—she had to know that it beat for her and for her alone.

Waiting for judgement, Strickler heard her hum curiously, and then laugh. It prompted his eyes, which opened to see her smiling.

"Well, no surprises there," Barbara leaned in to peck him on the lips. "I already knew you had a heart."

"Oh, really?" The lilt in his voice projected relief, though she mistook it for mirth. "I thought you'd stolen it."

The doctor smirked.

"Or perhaps you're still in the act." The tilt of his smile was devilish. "Oh! I'd better call the police. Help! Help!" he called like a damsel in distress.

Thumping him lightly across the chest, she rose, adjusting her coat, the scope, and her glasses all in one go.

"C'mon," her voice tittered lightly as she grabbed his hand, and then the box of scones, and began to tug him toward the door. "Let's go see if I can make you late for work. Maybe we can find a hidden glade and reenact that scene from the painting."

"Doctor, doctor," he intoned, pulling her back briefly to capture one last kiss, his arms coming around her like the couple caught in pigment above. "I would like nothing better."

*Quote from an interview with Guillermo del Toro


End file.
